“I’m on my way from Trelleborg to Kristianstad. I was going to fill up the car and then he was just lying there.”
“So you’re calling from a gas station?”
“I’m in my car.”
Wallander had begun to hope the man was simply intoxicated and imagining things. But his agitation seemed real.
“What can you see from your car?”
“I think it’s a department store.”
“Is there a name?”
“I can’t see any. I took the exit.”
“What exit?”
“The one for Ystad, of course!”
“From Trelleborg?”
“From Malmö. I was on the main highway.”
A thought had come crawling out of Wallander’s subconscious, though he had trouble believing it could be true.
“Can you see a cash machine from your car?” he asked.
“That’s where he is. On the sidewalk.”
Wallander held his breath. The man kept talking and Wallander handed the phone to the officer who had been listening in the background.
“It’s the same place Falk was found,” Wallander said. “The question is simply if we’ve found him again.”
“Who do you want me to send down there?”
“Call Martinsson and Nyberg. How many patrol cars are out right now?”
“Two. One is in Hedeskoga checking a domestic dispute. Some birthday party that got out of hand.”
“The other?”
“Downtown.”
“Tell them to head to the parking lot on Missunnavagen as soon as possible. I’ll get there on my own.”
Wallander left the station. He was freezing in the thin coat. During the short car ride he wondered what he was about to see. But deep down he was sure it was Tynnes Falk who had been returned to the place of his death.
Wallander and a patrol car arrived almost simultaneously. A man jumped out of a red Volvo when they arrived. He was waving his arms. Wallander got out and the man approached him shouting and pointing. He had bad breath.
“Wait here,” he ordered.
Then he walked over to the cash machine. It was Tynnes Falk. He was lying on his stomach with his hands tucked underneath his chest. His head was turned to the left. Wallander told the other officers to seal off the area. He also asked them to take down Nils Jonsson’s information, something he didn’t have the energy to do himself. He didn’t expect Jonsson to have anything important to tell them. The person or persons who had returned Falk’s body would most likely have chosen a time when no one could see them.
Wallander had never seen anything like this before. The reconstruction of a death, a body returned to the scene of the killing.
He didn’t understand it. He walked slowly around the body as if he were expecting Falk to rise to his feet.
One could say I’m looking at a divine figure, he thought. You worshipped yourself, Tynnes Falk. According to Siv Eriksson, you were planning to become a very old man. But you didn’t even live as long as I have.
Nyberg arrived in his car. He stared at the body for a full minute, then looked over at Wallander.
“Wasn’t he already dead? Then how did he end up back here? Was this where he wanted to be buried?”
Wallander didn’t know what he should say in response to these questions. He saw Martinsson park behind one of the patrol cars, and he walked over to meet him.
Martinsson got out of his car. He was dressed in a sweatsuit. He eyed the stain on the coat Wallander was wearing with disapproval, but he didn’t say anything.
“What’s happened?”
“Tynnes Falk has come back.”
“Is that your idea of a joke?”
“I’m just telling you what’s happened. Tynnes Falk is lying in the same spot where he died.”
They walked over to the cash machine. Nyberg was talking on the phone to a member of his forensic team. Wallander wondered gloomily if he was going to have to see Nyberg faint again.
“There’s one important thing I want you to check out,” Wallander told him. “See if you think he’s lying in the same position as when he was first found.”
Martinsson nodded and slowly circled the body. Wallander knew he had an excellent memory. Martinsson shook his head.
“He was lying farther away from the machine before. And one leg was bent.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Wallander thought for a moment.
“We really don’t need to wait for a doctor this time,” he said after a while. “Falk was pronounced dead over a week ago. I think we can turn him over without being accused of any wrongdoing.”
Martinsson hesitated, but Wallander insisted. He saw no reason to wait. Once Nyberg had taken a few photographs of the body, they turned it over. Martinsson flinched and drew back. A few seconds went by before Wallander realized why. Two fingers were missing. The index finger on the right hand and the ring finger on the left. He got up.
“What kind of animals are we dealing with?” Martinsson groaned. “Body snatchers? Corpse mutilators? Necrophiliacs?”
“I don’t know, but clearly this means something. Someone went to a lot of trouble to steal the body and now to return it here.”
Martinsson was pale and Wallander pulled him aside.
“We need to get hold of the night guard who discovered the body the first time,” he said. “We also need a copy of the security guards’ schedule so we can establish the times when they pass by this area. Then we’ll be in a better position to zero in on the time that he was brought back here.”
“Who found him this time?”
“A man called Nils Jönsson form Trelleborg.”
“Was he getting cash?”
“He says he stopped to fill up the car.”
Wallander walked over and talked to the officer who had taken down Jönsson’s information. As Wallander had expected, he had said nothing of interest.
Martinsson came over with information from the security company. “Someone came by here around eleven,” he said.
It was now half past twelve. Wallander recalled that the first time Falk was found the call had come in to the station around midnight. Nils Jönsson said he had discovered the body around a quarter to twelve.
“The body can only have been here for about an hour,” Wallander said. “And I have a decided feeling that the people who brought him back knew exactly when the guards came by.”
“‘The people’?”
“It has to be more than one person,” Wallander said. “I’m convinced of it.”
“What do you think the chances are of finding a witness?”
“Negligible. There aren’t many residential buildings in this area where someone might have looked out a window. And who comes down here late at night?”
“People out walking their dogs.”
“Maybe.”
“They may at least have noticed a car or some unusual activity. People with dogs tend to have habitual natures, and they’d notice something out of the ordinary.”
Wallander agreed. It was worth a try.
“We’ll put an officer down here tomorrow night,” he said. “He can talk to all those dogwalkers and joggers that pass by.”
“Hansson loves dogs,” Martinsson said.
So do I, Wallander thought. But I’ll be thankful if I don’t have to stand out here tomorrow night.
A car slowed down and stopped by the police tape. A young man in a sweatsuit that looked like the one Martinsson was wearing stepped out. Wallander felt like he was slowly being surrounded by the members of a soccer team.
“That’s our security guard,” Martinsson said. “The one from last Sunday. He was off tonight.”
He walked over to talk to him. Wallander went back to the body.
“Someone has cut off two of his fingers,” Nyberg said. “It gets worse and worse.”